


Sinful

by twizzle



Category: Historical RPF, Horrible Histories
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twizzle/pseuds/twizzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cromwell visits the king where he's imprisoned the night turns out differently to how they both expected.</p>
<p>Written in response to a prompt on the HH anon meme on LJ:<br/>Charles I/Oliver Cromwell, spanking - Charles is <i>sinful</i> and must be <i>punished</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinful

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to set this in Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of Wight as Charles was imprisoned there for quite some time after being captured by the Roundheads and before his execution. That’s not necessary to know for the fic, but it’s a nice little piece of information and sets the scene nicely I think. I don’t know if Cromwell ever visited him there, but for the sake of this fic let’s pretend he did.

Charles placed his quill down on his desk and ran his hand across his face. He was tired and the candlelight was straining his eyes; he had been writing most of the evening, attempting to reach any allies he still had left and co-ordinate them into an uprising. Despite being imprisoned he was still permitted correspondence, for which he was inordinately grateful.

He looked up as he heard the latch on the door slide open, the scrape of metal unmistakeable. He felt the colour drain from his face as he recognised the man who stepped into his room despite the wide-brimmed hat he wore that cast a shadow over his face.

“Cromwell.” Charles greeted him, the animosity he felt towards the man evident in his voice.

“Your _majesty_.” Cromwell replied, bowing in a mockery of formality as he swept his hat off his head and discarded it on an empty chair.

“What do you want?” Charles asked, hoping the insufferable man would get to the point quickly and leave him alone. He felt tenser simply from being in his presence and knew it would take him a long time to relax once he was gone. But, as the door was pulled closed behind the traitor and locked firmly, Charles got the distinct feeling it was going to be a long night.

Cromwell regarded him with a mixture of distaste and interest, looking down his sizeable nose at the still seated monarch.

“You have lead an incredibly _sinful_ life.”

Charles sighed. So, it was back to this. In his own opinion he had lead a life relatively free from sin – full of indulgences, but not sin. He was confident in his convictions and knew God would welcome him once his time was up.

“And your point?” Charles prompted, waving his hand airily. Cromwell visibly bristled, his eyes narrowing as his gaze did not move from the king.

“You are _sinful_. You must be _punished_.”

The words came out tight, strained, as Cromwell’s mouth was set into a hard line. Charles smirked at him and leant forward on his desk.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Cromwell’s frown deepened.

“I wish to see justice done.”

“But you’d _enjoy_ it.” Charles teased. “I know you despise me and everything I stand for. You must feel some triumph, some joy in capturing me like this?”

“Joy is sinful.” Cromwell replied, the mantra slipping from his lips automatically as it had done so many times before.

Charles stroked his hand across his beard, pulling slightly on the point at his chin.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Your… _accusation_ does not warrant a reply.” Cromwell retorted.

Charles sighed, faking indifference as he leant back in his chair once more and stretched. It felt good on his tense muscles whilst giving off an impression of nonchalance that so irritated Cromwell. He ached with tiredness and wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep but he could hardly order his captor away. Besides, baiting the stoic man was entertainment that he could indulge in, a rare commodity since his imprisonment had begun. If he was honest, being imprisoned was rather tedious – although he supposed it was designed to be that way.

“So.” Charles said. “What punishment do you have in mind for me? I can’t imagine you would have come all this way simply to tell me that I’ve ‘ _been a bad boy_ ’.” Charles put on a mockery of Cromwell’s voice for those last words, grinning up at him as he did so. “I hasten you remind you though that I _am_ the king, so you can’t do much without being guilty of treason – although I’d say you’ve already crossed that line-“

“Be silent.” Cromwell hissed. Charles grinned and complied simply out of curiosity about what the man would do next, folding his arms across his chest as he sat back in his chair. He could see the colour already rising in Cromwell’s cheeks, his anger visibly bubbling beneath the surface. Charles smirked as he saw Cromwell’s fingers twitch; he really was losing his composure. 

“Infuriating man.” Cromwell muttered to himself as he tore his gaze away from where the king lounged. “ _Sinful_ man.”

Cromwell paced across the room, a deep scowl on his brow as he mulled over the problem of the seemingly unconcerned monarch.

“You should be punished.” Cromwell stated, his eyes flickering back towards Charles.

Charles greeted the comment with a sigh. Their conversation – if it could be called that – was going in circles.

“Just spit it out Cromwell.” Charles said. “Stop dancing around the subject.”

“You should be whipped.” Cromwell narrowed his eyes at the monarch, Charles’ words stopping him in his pacing.

“Unfortunately there doesn’t appear to be one to hand.” Charles remarked, waving his hand around the room. “So you’re going to have to think of something else.” He smirked at the Puritan. “Besides, that sounds like more fun than I would have imagined you to go for… I never thought you’d be in to that sort of thing.”

Cromwell muttered under his breath, words that did not quite carry to where Charles was still sat but sounded suspiciously like curses. _Definitely_ not something he would have expected to hear coming from a Puritan.

“I mean, coming in to my chambers at night, threatening to _punish_ me – I would have thought your interests would be a little more… _pure_.” Charles frowned. “Or for you not to have these sort of interests – then again, I suppose you _are_ a man, even if you try to suppress it – men have _urges_ and it’s much more pleasant if you indulge in them rather than repress-“

Charles was cut off as Cromwell’s gloved hand slapped him hard across the face. He looked up in shock as the warm sting radiated out over his cheek, his hand automatically coming up to his face to touch the spot Cromwell had hit.

“You will _cease_ your infernal prattling.” Cromwell demanded before gripping Charles firmly by the arm and pulling him up and out of his seat, the chair clattering to the floor to the side of them where it fell.

“Touched a nerve, have I?” Charles raised his eyebrow, smirking at Cromwell before he was spun and shoved over his desk, his arm twisted back behind him awkwardly where Cromwell held it, his face pressed into the hard wood by Cromwell’s surprisingly strong hand. His other arm was trapped underneath him, no help at all in his brief struggle to right himself.

“I told you to stop.” Cromwell hissed as he bent over Charles, his body pressed against him and holding him down against the desk, his mouth close enough to Charles’ ear for the monarch to feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“And why would I do that?” Charles asked, smirking once again. “You can’t do anything to me, I’m the king. Besides, you’re far too easy to provoke.”

Cromwell released his grip on the back of Charles’ head. The lack of pressure forcing his face down enabled Charles to turn his head and grin up at the man behind him, their faces impossibly close together

“I bet you’re even enjoying this.” Charles said, delighting in the murderous look on his captor’s face.

“Can’t do anything?” Cromwell spat. “I don’t care that you’re the king. You need to be punished for your sins and I am _not_ powerless in that regard.”

At his words, Cromwell levered himself up and off of Charles, stepping back slightly. With his arm still held twisted behind him Charles was pinned effectively to the desk, unable to rise or escape Cromwell’s grip.

Charles started as he felt Cromwell’s free hand slide between his breeches and his skin before they were yanked down, hard, exposing his bare arse to the room.

“What are you doing?” Charles demanded, feeling a sense of helplessness enter him for the first time that evening.

“You are _sinful_.” Cromwell stated then brought his hand down hard on Charles’ rear, the slap of leather on skin echoing slightly in the room. “You must be _punished_.” Another slap, this time on the other cheek.

Charles let his head fall forward, his forehead pressed against the desk as he let out a huff of pain and surprise, his breath colouring the polished wood beneath him. He had never felt so humiliated, so helpless; a grunt caught in his throat as Cromwell brought his hand down again, the force of the blow pushing Charles further against the desk. He could do nothing but wait it out, wait for Cromwell to tire of his punishment, wait-

Another smack, harder, slightly lower down.

Charles groaned as Cromwell continued, each thwack involuntarily forcing a noise from his mouth.

When Cromwell paused, Charles dared to tilt his head to the side, sneaking a look back at the Puritan. Cromwell was staring down at his arse with what could only be described as a contented expression – and Charles _knew_ that the flush on Cromwell’s face was nothing to do with anger or exertion. Charles felt the stirring of pleasure deep in his belly, knowing it was _his_ reddening cheeks that were the cause of the look of adoration sneaking into Cromwell’s features. That, and the rather delightful warmth radiating from his abused buttocks.

“I _thought_ you’d enjoy this.” Charles spoke, his words coming out slightly strained through his laboured breathing. It was something he had always rather enjoyed himself, although he’d never imagined _Cromwell_ to be the one delivering the smacks… 

Cromwell’s eyes snapped up to Charles’ face and the monarch smirked at the dilated pupils and open desire he saw in them.

“I am _not_ enjoying this.” Cromwell replied, placing his hand on the desk next to Charles’ face to support himself as he leant over the monarch. Charles hissed as the rough material of Cromwell’s trousers scraped against his sore flesh, a hiss that turned to a groan as he felt the unmistakable feeling of an erection pressing against him through them, betraying Cromwell’s words. Cromwell gasped at the contact then, realising himself, he pulled back and started down in horror at the king.

“You are an _evil_ man.” Cromwell spat. “Making me feel like- manipulating me to-“

“Cat got your tongue?” Charles smirked. “Or is that desire?”

Cromwell’s face hardened and he brought his hand back down to slap Charles’ arse again.

“You will _not_ –“ _Slap_ “– transfer your sins –“ _Slap_ “– your strange desires –“ _Slap_ “– onto me.”

Charles moaned with each slap, each painful touch fizzing through him as pleasure and heading straight for his cock. He was hard and trapped against the desk, rocking his hips with each slap in an attempt to find some friction, some relief. He could feel his orgasm building, the desktop slick with his precum as he ground against it, Cromwell’s steadily rhythmic slaps the only sound in the room other than the wanton groans slipping from the monarch’s mouth.

“You should _not_ be enjoying this.” Cromwell said, punctuating his words with another hard slap. “This is a _punishment_.” 

Charles wasn’t sure who Cromwell was talking to, his words seemingly relevant to both of their situations – but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he started to shudder, his mouth open and gasping against the desk as he came harder than he had in a _long_ time. He thought he would pass out from the pleasure, his own breath hot and wet against his face as his hips bucked, Cromwell’s hand stilling on his arse, the warm leather a welcome sensation on his over-sensitised flesh as he moaned his release.

Cromwell stepped back, staring in horror at the scene in front of him as he released Charles’ arm. Charles turned his head to face Cromwell and smirked happily but otherwise stayed as he was.

“This is _wrong_. I- it- we-“ Cromwell stammered, his eyes wide as he took in the almost purple hue of Charles’ arse, beaten so thoroughly by his own hand; and the look of completely sated, mocking victory on the king’s face.

“That was _good_.” Charles sighed, his dark eyes twinkling. “We’ll have to do this again. I’ve had fun.”

Cromwell shook his head, trying to block out the image of the king bent over in front of him, his words speaking of _pleasure_ and _joy_ , his own cock betraying him where it stood straining and weeping in his breeches.

“ _Sinful_.” Cromwell spat, his eyes full of confusion and his conviction not quite reaching his voice as he gave Charles one last glance before leaving the room.

Charles grimaced as he stood up, his arse protesting profoundly against the abuse it had suffered. Still, it had been a fun night. The letters he had been writing were ruined though – he could hardly send them out covered in… well. At least rewriting them would give him something to do. He made his way over to his bed and flopped down on his front, completely relaxed as he wondered if Cromwell would be visiting him again anytime soon.

He grinned as he spotted Cromwell’s hat, still sitting on the chair where the man had left it. He would take that as a yes.


End file.
